


Silent

by StFemily



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Smut, The House of Black and White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StFemily/pseuds/StFemily
Summary: A girl has a (mostly) silent visitor.





	Silent

**Author's Note:**

> Smutty Arya/Jaqen oneshot. Consider the setting a mix of book and show verses, as I have been influenced by both. Arya has been at the House for longer here, so she's around 16+.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Utterly silent.

 

He'd said not one word as he slipped into her bed, startling her as she lay awake and distracted. Pondering lists of names, so lost in snowy forests and gilded lions she didn't hear his light steps, or the creak of her door. She barely had a moment to feel shame at being caught unawares - _what if he'd come to test her?_ \- when warm arms slid around her, the heat of another body against her night shift. Then he spoke, only a few words whispered darkly against her ear.

"Lie still, sweet girl."

No more words had he spoken since. He didn't need words. And now her little moans were escaping in a gentle rhythm, an endless song that she stubbornly still tried to suppress, as his long fingers worked skillfully between her legs.

She had tried to counter him at first, pushing against his grip, straining to face him, but she'd acted too slowly and he had the advantage. He held her firmly against his chest, pinning her arms and legs with his entire form, and as his hands drifted to her breasts she felt any urge to resist him melting away like tallow to a flame. It had been a very half-hearted resistance to begin with.

As he caressed her body, fingertrips trailing lazily down the rough fabric of her shift, she sighed and relaxed against him, her fierce pride the only remaining source of reluctance.

It was easy to get lost in time when he came to her like this. In a strange way it was a kind of lesson in itself, how to ensnare a person in physical longing, to make them pliant and vulnerable, even if it stung her to be the one being snared.

She nuzzled against the only part of him she could easily reach, the long wave of red-and-white hair that fell down past his shoulders. He smelled clean, as he always did to her, of soap and lemon and rich cloves, a scent that still jolted her instinctively back to the first time he'd awoken her in her bed - though it was years past, and in different circumstances, she still felt the same pleasant warmth as he held her now.

She was shocked out of her memory as his teeth grazed her throat. He slid a finger smoothly inside of her and she whined, wanting all of him, but already knowing he enjoyed torturing her like this in place of what men usually did.

_"Oh."_

She felt so annoyed by her own little gasps and cries, still defiantly trying to stifle any noise he wrung from her. It wasn't as if she'd _never_ been touched before. But he seemed intent to master her body, her responses, and every time she reacted like a shy maiden without the least control over it.

Though he didn't speak, he chuckled and the vibration of his throat against her rumbled in a comforting way. He returned his lips to her ear, languidly pinching a nipple until it was sore, while he curled his fingers deep into her, and she whimpered, hating how good he made her feel, desperately wishing she could roll on top of him and get her revenge.

He was so skilled in everything he did, so controlled and _calm._ She wanted to restrain him, break down his control and rip ungodly sounds from him as he did to her. She wanted both to punish him and please him.

 _No, not to please him,_ she thought angrily. To make him hard and aching, to touch him just too lightly, to stroke just _too_ slowly, to make him throb with sweet pain, until he keened and begged for her.

Only once he begged would she fuck him, she decided firmly.

Vengeance was suddenly eclipsed as he thrust a third finger in, his other hand firmly stroking the soft spot above her cunt, and without warning she rolled her hips up against the friction, gritting her teeth to keep the noises welling in her throat as quiet as possible.

"Wild, beautiful girl," he murmured, a ghost across her skin, and his voice was rough and heavy with arousal. Through the fog of her pleasure, she realised he was urgently hard, pressing into the small of her back. She laughed breathlessly, exhilarated that she could do that to him.

As if sensing her triumph, his fingers sped up, and he pushed a fourth roughly into her cunt. Her legs strained, held down by his own, and he kissed her neck hungrily as she cried out. The feel of his hands everywhere on her, _in_ her, the warm scent of him, his cock pushing into her back, it was too much. She came with a small scream, stubborn silence gone, her hips rocking against his fingers and his hair tickling her cheek.

She floated back into his arms after a moment, and deliberately, he kept going, even as she gasped and her entire body shuddered with aftershocks. He bit the crook of her neck, hard, fingers still fucking her mercilessly, and she cried his name as she came again.

(It wasn't _really_ his name, but it was what she called him, and that was enough.)

This time he stopped, gently withdrawing and giving her time to come down, until the wildfire in her veins was smoldering and her ragged breaths calmed. Utterly spent, she was limp as he released his iron hold, turning her to face him at last. He was still hard, the brush of his cock against her stomach comforting, even though she knew he wouldn't be using it. He kissed her very chastely and when he lifted his head, she saw his smile even in the semi-darkness, and his incredible eyes that could fuck her almost as well as his fingers ever had.

"I'll get you back for this," she told him drowsily. He ran a hand through her dark hair, settling her head against his shoulder.

"A girl is not satisfied?"

There was only the faintest tinge of smugness in his words. She closed her eyes, hungry for him but exhausted.

"There are many ways to satisfy a girl," she replied honestly, after a moment's thought.

"A man would learn all of them." He nuzzled into her neck, a contented cat.

"Some you might not be able to learn so quickly," she smiled against his warm skin. A hand tangled into her hair as she began to drift into sleep.

"I have great patience, Arya Stark."

 

 

 


End file.
